


What Is Your Emergency?

by DraconianScribe



Category: Free!
Genre: Action, Breaking Laws At 161 KPH, Comedy, Fatal Attraction, Fuck the Police, Grand Theft Auto AU, Joking But Not Really Because SouRin Cops Are My Aesthetic, M/M, Romance, like a boss, riding dirty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 20:07:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3394739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DraconianScribe/pseuds/DraconianScribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternatively titled "Grand Theft Mako: The Ballad of Gay Haru." Starring Haru the NASCAR prodigy and criminal mastermind, Makoto as his cute but clueless love interest, the villainous Officer Rin, his loyal henchman Sousuke, and Kisumi as the guy who gets wasted in the opening credits.</p><p>~WINNER OF THE MAKOHARU FEST 2015~ Written for Round 1, Day 6 ("Don't Let Go").</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Is Your Emergency?

**Author's Note:**

> it wasn't supposed to go down like this

_“Hello, this is 119. What emergency service do you require?”_

“There’s a fire at the Future Fish restaurant near Tajiri Port.”

_“Thank you. The fire department are en route to your location.”_

 

* * *

 

When Makoto looked back on his twenty-two years of life, he supposed he could’ve chosen a career path that didn’t leave him constantly covered in soot and had much less potential to get him killed – something like teaching kids how to swim or running a cat café. But Makoto loved being a fireman. Despite his general clumsiness, fear of the dark, fear of sudden movements, fear of blood, fear of being incinerated, fear of seeing other people being incinerated, and that one time he almost burned the entire station down because he forgot to add water to his instant ramen _before_ putting it in the microwave, it was one of the few things in the world that made him feel like he was making a difference. He got to rescue kittens, carry people out of burning buildings, be part of an incredible team alongside the best and bravest, and visit schools to tell stories to the kids that made him sound much more impressive than he actually was. One of these days, his hero complex was going to be the death of him, but he knew, deep down, that it was worth it in the end.

“Shigino! Tachibana! We just got a call about a fire at the Future Fish! You’re on first response,” barked Fire Chief Sasabe.

“Yes, sir!” Makoto answered, already on his feet. He quickly grabbed his equipment and followed his partner, Kisumi, who, to his immense relief, had already climbed into the driver’s side of the fire truck.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t drive. He just preferred not to. Because if there was one thing that Makoto feared more than anything else – more than drowning, being burnt to a crisp, or being forced to pose shirtless for the annual firefighter calendar – it was driving.

He couldn’t explain it. All he knew was that being behind the wheel gave him the eerie feeling of being trapped inside a metal cage – a rush of sights and sounds screeching and swirling all around him, dragging him down, shards of glass raining red onto the asphalt, an old man lying cold and broken beneath a wreckage of steel…

“All right, let’s _do this!”_ Kisumi whooped, flicking on the sirens as Makoto settled into the passenger’s seat.

“Ready for another adventure?” Makoto smiled, the ease of their laughter numbing the twinge of inadequacy he felt as his friend speeded smoothly out into traffic.

“Of course! With St Tachibana, God of Fire and Saviour of Kittens at my side, what could possibly go wrong?” Kisumi winked as Makoto flushed and spluttered in protest.

 _“NO –_ how many times do I – it-it wasn’t _like_ that – _I did it for the children!”_ he cried, burying his face in his hands and wanting to _die_ from humiliation. “They told me that the profits were going to burn victims at a _children’s hospital!_ How could I say _no?”_ It wasn’t like he _wanted_ to be some ginormous, awkward _Hulk-thing!_ It was _embarrassing!_

Why couldn’t he be more like his friend Rin? Rin was a police officer. Rin wasn’t scared of _anything –_ not even of getting shot at or beating up bad guys. He drove like he was the star of _Fast and Furious_ – that’s how _cool_ he was. No one had ever escaped him in a car chase, and he loved having his picture taken, _especially_ if it was for charity. He didn’t even sweat it. He had a great body too, one that was fit and muscular, built for speed, and optimal for fighting crime, not like Makoto’s freakish mass, which would probably get him stuck in a collapsing doorway sooner or later.

“Don’t you think it’s strange?” Kisumi wondered aloud, interrupting Makoto’s increasingly depressing thoughts.

“What’s strange?” Makoto asked, grateful for the change in topic.

“That we got a call from a restaurant. Aren’t they supposed to have smoke detectors in the kitchens?”

“Maybe the fire wasn’t in the kitchen?” he guessed. Not that he would know. He’d been banned from the kitchen ever since the Ramen Incident.

Come to think of it, it _was_ strange. According to the screen he was looking at, the destination was on their left and there was no tell-tale cloud of smoke billowing into the sky or screams of panic emanating from the vicinity.

Instead, there was a single chef waiting expectantly by the entrance, his spotless white hat perched upon his black hair and an apron fastened tightly over his slim waist. In one hand, he held a ladle; in his other, a bulging black duffel bag. As the fire engine pulled up next to the pavement, the chef slung the bag over his shoulder with a grace that offset the bulkiness of his cargo and calmly approached Kisumi’s side of the truck, the ladle still gripped loosely in one hand.

“Hey, cutie,” Kisumi called out. “Mind telling us what happened heaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!”

In one swift movement, the chef had wrenched the door open and swung the ladle into Kisumi’s face, knocking him out with a dull _thwack_ and dumping him onto the ground.

 _“Kisumuuuuuuuuurgh!”_ Makoto gasped, the weight of the duffel bag slamming him against his seat and cutting off his cries.

The chef ignored his struggles, tossing the ladle on top of the bag and climbing into the driver’s seat. Makoto’s choked cries for help faltered into silence as the hijacker whipped his hat off and cast it away with a regal shake of his head, every strand falling smoothly into place over his unfathomably blue eyes. He glanced at Makoto, who felt as if he were drowning in his oceanic gaze.

 _Merman,_ Makoto’s dying brain rasped out.

Then, the spell was broken. The man turned away, placing his foot on the gas pedal and _flooring_ it.

 _“HOLY SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!!!!!!!!!”_ Makoto shrieked as they practically _flew_ down the street, faster than lightning, faster than a bullet train, faster than he’d ever gone in his _life!_ Faster than spaceships, faster than this _psychopath_ had taken over the wheel, faster than Makoto's rapidly accelerating heart rate because ohmygodohmygodohmygod _ohmygodOHMYGOD HE WAS GOING TO DIE!!!!!!_

He squeezed his eyes shut in a pathetic attempt to hold back his tears, his entire body shaking, his lips quivering, his nose getting so clogged from all the sniffling that he _almost_ couldn’t smell the horrific stench that was wafting out of the bag on his lap.

Oh, _god,_ what was _in_ this bag? It felt soggy and squishy and it smelled like fish, but why was there so _much_ of it? Oh, god, what if it was a body, and the fish was _literally_ a red herring? What if he was a hit man for the yakuza? All those knives in the kitchen… He might've chopped up the body to fit it all into the bag, and now it was sitting on Makoto’s lap, crushing him beneath its deadweight… HA, DEADWEIGHT—

He burst into a peal of high-pitched laughter, which was halted abruptly by the slap of the hijacker’s hand against his mouth.

“I can’t feel the road if you’re freaking out,” he calmly spoke, complete and utter seriousness written across his _unlawfully_ pretty features.

Makoto whimpered in fright, his stomach lurching. _How could someone so villainous be so beautiful?_ He was _ethereal._ Everything, from his slender build, to the expert way he gripped the steering wheel, to his firm but quiet voice, to his dark hair and his mystifying, _magnificent_ blue eyes made Makoto feel as if he were a helpless sailor being dragged overboard by a man-eating mer-creature. His movements had the litheness and elegance of an artist. The way he drove – it wasn’t the swift, aggressive way Rin ploughed through traffic. The hijacker was driving just as fast, if not faster, than Makoto had seen Rin chase after criminals, but he made weaving through cars and running red lights look so natural, so effortless, Makoto even forgot to scream about the fact that they were breaking over 16 laws per second.

The traffic seemed to part for him. It was like he was one with the road, like he was a fish swimming in the sea. And somehow, Makoto knew that as long as this strange, enchanting siren of a man was with him, he wasn’t going to die.

At least not from a car accident.

The chef who probably wasn’t even a chef removed his hand and Makoto shrunk back, shivering from how warm and gentle the hijacker’s hand had felt – perfect for delicate tasks like art or cooking and sewing and comforting frightened passengers… or bashing someone’s skull in with a soup ladle.

“Calm down,” the man said, turning back to the road. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead.”

Strangely enough, Makoto wasn’t exactly comforted by the thought. “Wh-what about m-my friend?” he choked.

“I used a blunt weapon. He’ll be awake in a few hours. He seems like an annoying type of guy anyway.”

“A-are you ya-yakuza?” Makoto squeaked, terrified of the answer. He’d only seen one or two gangster movies in his life – even then the word “seen” was applied loosely, as he tended to scramble behind cover as soon as the screaming and the loud noises and the suspenseful music started picking up – oh, god, _why didn’t he pay more attention when he had the chance?_

“No. I only operate freestyle,” the other man responded cryptically.

“Th-then wh-what do you want with _m-me?”_ Makoto croaked.

“It’s not you I want,” the chef replied. “I want this truck. You’re Plan B.”

“P-plan B?”

“You’ll make an excellent human shield,” he said, his tone so deadpan that Makoto almost wondered if he were joking.

Before he could ask, Makoto jolted upright from the blaring of his work phone, the force of his shock sending the foul-smelling bag thudding onto the floor with a sickening squelch.

 _“IDIOT,”_ the hijacker snarled, his entire face darkening but somehow even more bewitching in its fury, “Do you have _any_ idea how difficult it is to steal 45 kilos of mackerel? Guard that bag with your _life_ or I will put a bullet between those aesthetically pleasing eyes of yours.” He narrowed his eyes and trailed them up Makoto’s body as if he were deciding on the best method to scale and filet a particularly large fish. Then, he turned away, muttering, “458B00…. no, 66CD00….”

Unsure whether to quail from the transgression of angering his kidnapper or blush from what he suspected were weird, backhanded compliments, or possibly even both, he attempted to heave the bag back towards himself, only to be stopped by a chilling glare from the imposter chef, which clearly stated, _Don’t you dare touch my mackerel. You’ve done enough damage, you incompetent FOOL. And pick up your goddamned phone before I chuck it out of the window, and YOU with it._

Right, so that last part was mainly just an educated guess, but seeing as how the driver's face gradually reverted back into what seemed to be his default state of boredom, Makoto had to force himself to bite his own lip and try not to smile despite the precariousness of the situation. The man may be a professional fish burglar and carjacker, but he was surprisingly easy to read.

“Hello?” Makoto answered, putting the phone up to his ear.

“Hello, is this Mako-chan-san?” said a brisk, but polite voice on the other end.

“Um… yes, this is Makoto,” he replied, confused as to why the man would add both –chan and –san to the end of his name. Who was he, and how did he get his number?

“Forgive me, Makoto-san. I was informed – well, never mind. Is Haruka-senpai with you?”

“Haruka?” Makoto sounded out. A lovely name. For a lovely girl, no doubt. But the only person with him was a man –

“Call me that again, and I’ll make sure it’s the last word you ever say,” his companion automatically shot back, the words sounding oddly bored and rehearsed, as if he’d already said it several times to several very stupid people. “It’s Haru,” he corrected in a slightly softer tone.

 _Haru._ His name is _Haru,_ Makoto repeated in his head, his face heating as he realised _Haru_ was giving him permission to call him by his first name. And such a _beautiful_ name it was. It suited him so well, and just rolled right off the tip of his tongue, so naturally as if Makoto had been saying it his entire life. _Haru, Haru, Haru, Haru…_

“Yes, Haru’s here,” Makoto told the man on the phone, his breath catching on the two syllables that were certain to haunt him long after the man named _Haru_ had decided he’d outlived his usefulness and buried him six metres under the ground. He flicked his eyes over to _Haru,_ feeling somehow anxious about his reaction. What if he’d been too bold? He probably should’ve added an honorific, like –kun or something, but Haru-kun didn’t sound quite right for someone so finicky about strange things like mackerel and bonding with traffic. _Haru-chan, maybe?_ he thought to himself, his heart pounding and his palms starting to sweat even as he fought the inexplicable urge to giggle.

Makoto was officially losing his mind.

“Excuse me, Makoto-san? May I speak with Haruka-senpai, please?” the stranger on the other line implored him, his tone remaining polite despite the underlying urgency.

Oh, right! He’d almost forgotten he was supposed to be talking with someone. Makoto glanced over at his companion, who appeared to be completely absorbed in navigating the road. There was a bright gleam in his eyes that rendered Makoto speechless for a moment as he realised Haru was enjoying himself.

“Um… he’s driving right now. I can put you on speakerphone,” he offered, the word _“cute”_ screaming inappropriately in his head.

“Yes, please do.”

Makoto pressed the speaker button and turned back to Haru, feeling strangely guilty for interrupting his weird connection with the road. It was as if he were intruding on some private moment, but the stranger on the phone clearly knew Haru and it sounded really important. In any case, he figured that if Haru hadn’t ripped his throat out yet for dropping his mackerel, he was probably safe for the moment.

“Haru,” Makoto spoke softly and carefully, employing the same technique he’d use to approach a particularly ornery cat, “there’s someone who wants to speak with you.”

“What is it?” Haru replied, his voice bristling with irritation.

_“HARUKA-SENPAI, THIS IS TERRIBLE! WE MUST ABORT THE MISSION.”_

“No.”

_“HARUKA-SENPAI, PLEASE! THIS ISN’T THE TIME TO BE STUBBORN.”_

“I already have the fire truck. Did Nagisa stash the getaway car?”

_“Yes, of course he did, but that’s beside the point—”_

“Then don’t bother me. I’m in the middle of a very important heist setup.”

_“NITORI-SAN AND MIKOSHIBA-SAN HAVE BEEN APPREHENDED.”_

_“What?_ When?”

_“Two minutes ago, about three miles south of your location, which you would’ve known sooner if you actually bothered to check your phone! The police are on their way. You have to get out of there!”_

“Did they get the equipment?”

_“Nagisa-kun was able to recover the suits, but Nitori-san and Mikoshiba-san only managed to procure three sets.”_

“What part of _four-man crew_ did they not understand?” Haru scoffed with disdain. “They had _one_ job. ONE. I _told_ you we shouldn’t have recruited those amateurs. They couldn’t even tell an Aventador apart from a Gallardo – and to think, they wanted 10% of the cut. _Each._ We don’t need anyone like that.”

 _“To be fair, Haruka-senpai, most of your cars_ do _look the same. Perhaps if they were in different colours—”_

“The handling on each of those cars is _completely_ different, not to mention the acceleration and braking capacities—”

Suddenly, Haru broke off. “They’re here,” he said, slamming down on the brake and turning so sharply at the intersection, Makoto could _feel_ the tires of the truck lifting up and hovering above the ground. His hips snapped up against his seatbelt, sending his heart plummeting into the pit of his stomach and his bum flying as it clenched in fear. The truck had barely clattered back onto the road before it went zooming down a different side street, Makoto's hands scrambling to find something,  _anything,_ to hold on to.

_“Haruka-senpai, are you still there?”_

“Sorry, Rei, we’ve got some unwanted company,” Haru responded, snatching the phone out of Makoto’s clammy hands and flinging it out the window, where it was immediately smashed into the pavement by an SUV that skimmed the side of the truck. The sight of his phone's mangled frame, scattered and sizzling with the last vestiges of life, struck Makoto as somewhat ominous.

He supposed it could be much worse.

“STOP RIGHT THERE, CRIMINAL SCUM,” a growling voice roared over a loudspeaker. “THIS IS THE IWATOBI POLICE DEPARTMENT. WE HAVE YOUR ACCOMPLICES. PULL OVER AND SURRENDER NOW.”

 _“Oh, my god,”_ Makoto moaned, swaying in his seat and nearly passing out on the spot. “It’s _Rin._ Oh, my god, it’s Rin. And Sousuke’s probably with him. Oh, god, just kill me now…”

Haru shushed him, zipping past the next stoplight. Makoto gave a terrified squawk as a blaring rubbish truck came hurtling towards them, missing the back of the truck by a hair. Behind them, he could see no less than three police cruisers, one of which was forced to swerve into the next street to avoid a collision.

Makoto was doing his best to stay calm so Haru could “feel the road” or whatever and please please _please_ try not to get them killed, but random bursts of dry sobbing noises kept tearing out of his throat no matter how hard he tried to hold them in. The only sound Haru made was a small “tsk” of annoyance as he sent the fire truck soaring into the opposite lane and oh god were they _really going to drive headfirst into oncoming traffic - oh my GOOOOOOODDDDDD THAT WAS CLOSE OH SHIT one of the cops just crashed oh my god what if they’re dead does that make him an accomplice of manslaughter_ HIS MOTHER WOULD BE SO DISAPPOINTED _he was going to JAIL and he’ll never see Ren and Ran again oh god he’s going to die he’s going to die HE’S GOING TO DIE IN A FIRE TRUCK WITH A CRAZY FISH BOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

“YOU’RE NOT GETTING AWAY FROM ME, ASSHOLE,” Rin bellowed through the loudspeaker. “ _PULL OVER THE FUCKING VEHICLE!”_

Haru frowned, glaring at the rear-view mirror in disbelief. “He’s still there?”

 _YES, HE’S STILL THERE,_ Makoto screamed internally. _And he’s gaining on us every second!_ This was it. This was the end. Rin matched every sharp turn, countered every duck-and-weave, blazed through oncoming traffic like an unstoppable force of justice – _wait,_ Makoto was technically the hostage in this situation! He should be _glad_ that Rin was coming to save him!

He stole a glance at Haru, whose face was as impassive as ever, but the light tapping of his fingers against the steering wheel, the nearly imperceptible clenching of his jaw, and the storminess in his eyes betrayed his annoyance. Makoto tried to ignore the unpleasant twinge he felt at the thought of Haru being arrested and thrown in prison, torn away from the two things that he loved most – driving and mackerel. He knew that Haru said he had plans for him, but maybe if he managed to escape before then, he could distract Rin somehow and everything would be –

"Holy _mackerel,_ " Haru cursed beneath his breath. “What is wrong with this guy? Bastard doesn't know when to give up. Unbuckle your seatbelt; we’re moving into Plan B.”

“P-plan B?” Makoto squeaked, clutching his restraints. Oh, god, oh, god. This couldn’t be happening. The most illegal thing he’d ever done in his life was dash across a crosswalk once when he was running late for work and the pedestrian signal was flashing red, although he swore there hadn’t been any cars around! But now there _were_ cars, and he was about to become actively involved in a car chase. A CAR CHASE. With the _police._ Like he was in _James Bond_ or that really violent, really scary video game the twins had tricked him into playing once. The one with all the yelling and the Americans and _oh shit_ they didn’t have rocket launchers in Japan, did they? He didn’t think even his bulk could stop a _rocket launcher._ It wasn’t like he _minded_ taking a bullet for someone, he just wished it was for a more noble cause than a stolen fire truck and 45 kilos of mackerel –

“I’m going to exit out this side of the truck—” Haru began.

“NonononononononNOOOOOO _don’t leave me!”_ Makoto cried, seizing the sleeve of the imposter chef’s uniform and practically sobbing into it.

“I’m not leaving you,” Haru snapped. “I just need to access the switch for the water cannon.”

“Y-you’re going to h-hose them down?” Makoto gulped, picturing 2000 litres of pressurised water and wondering how on _earth_ this was possibly going to end well.

Haru nodded, a mischievous glint in his dazzling blue eyes.

“B-but who’s going to drive?”

“You are.”

“NOOOOOOOOOOO I can’t drive _I can’t I’m scared_ I’m not like you please please _please_ don’t make me—”

“I’m not asking you to make any stunt jumps. Just keep the truck steady.”

“St-st-STUNT JUMPS? I c-c-c- _can’t!_ I-I-I’ll go instead—”

“You’re too muscular, and you have absolutely no control over your idiot strength,” Haru bluntly informed him. “If you go out there, you’ll fall and die. Then there will be no one to hit the switch and _I’ll_ die. Do you want me to die?” Haru asked point-blank, blinking his big blue eyes up at him.

 _“Nooooooooooooo,”_ Makoto sobbed, too distraught by the thought of Haru _dying_ and leaving this world _forever_ to be embarrassed over the fact that Haru had scrutinised his body. “N-n-never!!”

“Then get over here and take the wheel.”

Makoto let out a shaky breath and crawled over to the steering wheel, being careful to avoid trampling the bag of mackerel.

Haru quickly slid to the edge of the seat to make room for him, tearing off his apron and gripping Makoto's shoulder with an intense stare. “Remember, the road is alive. Once you drive onto it, it will immediately bare its fangs and attack. But there’s nothing to fear.”

“Wh-what?” Makoto wheezed, desperately trying to absorb Haru’s words of wisdom amongst flashbacks of a smiling old man, a bag of gold fish, and the street outside his window painted in blood.

“Don’t resist the flow of traffic. Thrust your foot onto the pedal and carve an opening. Then you slide your vehicle through that opening, moving your arms, your head, your chest—”

But Makoto was no longer listening.

“Wh-what are you – OH MY GOD IS THAT A GUN?”

Haru didn't bother to answer, cocking and loading the handgun he'd concealed beneath his apron and flicking off what Makoto _presumed_ to be the safety BUT HE WOULDN’T KNOW, WOULD HE, BECAUSE OWNING A HANDGUN WAS A CRIMINAL OFFENCE UNDER JAPANESE LAW.

 _“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?”_ Makoto shrieked. “THIS ISN’T _AMERICA._  THAT IS _ILLEGAL._ JUST _HOLDING_ IT IS ILLEGAL. EACH _BULLET_ IS ILLEGAL. THAT IS _TEN YEARS_ IN PRISON. _EACH!!!!! Wa-WAIT, WHAT ARE YOU – P-point that thing away from meeeeeeee!!!!”_

“Makoto,” Haru said, pressing the barrel of the gun into his right temple. Makoto was petrified. He whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut, his heart thudding and imploding in on itself with thoughts of _oh, god, he’s going to shoot me, he’s going to blow my brains out, is it going to hurt, HE SAID MY NAME, he makes it sound so nice, even the way he holds that gun looks nice, am I going to hell, this gun is COLD –_

“Makoto,” Haru repeated, more sharply. “Shut up and watch the road. I’m only aiming for the tires. Given the distance, your crude driving technique, and me hanging out of your lap upside down, I doubt I’ll be able to hit anything anyway.”

 _“Hanging_ out of my – _SHIT shit SHIT oh SHIT!!!”_

Haru had thrown open the door and swan-dived backwards out of the truck, gun in hand and both of his legs neatly locked around Makoto’s waist.

Oh, _hell_ no. Makoto was most definitely _not_ getting hard while being straddled under duress by his kidnapper and fleeing from law enforcement in a goddamn fire truck.

He yelped and flinched at the sound of gunfire beside him, followed by the screeching of a nearby vehicle spinning into traffic. He didn’t dare look back, keeping his eyes riveted to the road even as he blinked back tears and cars whooshed in and out of his flickering field of vision. _Breathe, Makoto, just breathe, you're doing fine, you're fine, everything's fine,_ he blubbered to himself as horns blasted in his ears, people screamed, and the wail of sirens chased after him.

“Watch it,” Haru hissed, his legs tightening their grip after a wild swerve across the intersection that barely managed to avoid colliding into the pole of the stoplight. Makoto could practically _hear_ the latent scrape of metal and flecks of paint flitting onto the ground as they squeaked past. “I don’t want to see a _single scratch_ on this vehicle.”

“Then why on _earth_ did you have to steal a _fire truck?_ Why couldn’t you steal something faster? A-and SMALLER?” Makoto whined back, his hands shaking so badly he was surprised the entire truck wasn’t trembling from the weight of his terror. Haru made driving this literal train wreck look so _easy._ There was no way this hunk of metal could possibly outrun a police vehicle, and he didn’t dare attempt any fancy racing manoeuvres – his brain was about to undergo a total meltdown from how hard he was concentrating on not crashing into cars in the _same lane_ as him, let alone the ones speeding in the opposite direction.

Haru sat back up to reload, his fingers deftly ejecting and sliding the new clip in, his face completely devoid of remorse and _way_ too close to Makoto’s. “The best way to break into Naichou is to impersonate emergency personnel,” he responded, as if this were obvious.

“Na-NAICHOU?” Makoto screamed, the wavering pitch of his voice escalating into six-year-old girl territory. “The CABINET INTELLIGENCE AND RESEARCH OFFICE?”

“Enough talk,” Haru scolded him, flipping back down to crack off a few more shots.

Meanwhile Makoto was breathing in and out so heavily he doubted he’d even need an air bag if they crashed. He risked letting go with one hand to pinch his own face to make sure this was real. Jolting and eyes watering from the pain, he was forced to confirm that yes, the cops were still behind him. Yes, he was still being chased while driving a fire truck at 161 kilometres an hour down the Iwatobi highway. And yes, there was still an insane, fish-eating, breathtakingly beautiful sociopath dangling halfway out the door with his legs wrapped around him and firing an illegal handgun with the precision of an international super spy—

“Eat  _that,_ shark-face," Haru smirked as a skidding CRASH broke out behind them. “Keep it steady. I’m going for the switch.”

Before Makoto could stammer to him to _be careful,_ he’d already darted out the door like a ninja, the quiet _pitter-patter_ of his movements echoing throughout the interior of the fire engine.

“CITIZEN, THIS IS YOUR FINAL WARNING,” boomed Sousuke’s menacingly deep voice over the loudspeaker. “PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPON AND SURRENDER NOW.”

“YOU HEARD HIM,” Rin snarled. “GET DOWN FROM THE VEHICLE AND PUT YOUR FUCKING HANDS UP.”

There was a brief pause in the muffled shuffling on the side of the truck, followed by Rin’s indignant squawk. “YOU LITTLE _SHIT!_ TRY FLIPPING ME OFF WHEN I CUFF YOUR ASS AND MAKE SURE YOU NEVER SEE THE ROAD AGAIN! COME ON, SOUSUKE, LET’S PUT THAT FUCKER BEHIND BARS!”

“DON’T CRY WHEN YOU LOSE, _MOGE!”_ Haru shouted back as a sudden rumbling echoed from the back of the fire engine. Makoto gazed at the rear view mirror in horror as a torrent of water erupted from the top of the truck and thundered into their pursuers, the sheer force propelling them backwards into a bus and toppling them over into a sodden heap of crushed metal.

 _THEY DID IT!_ They actually did it! They totally wiped out Rin! Rin, who was his close friend, and Rin's partner Sousuke – oh, god, _what had they done? They were DEAD. SO DEAD._

“MAKOTO!” Haru shouted, inching along the slippery surface of the fire truck. The hose was still emptying at full blast overhead, the deluge causing Haru to lose his footing and make a mad leap towards the door.

“HARU!” Makoto cried. Haru barely managed to grasp onto the very edge of the open door, groaning in pain as his momentum sent him slamming into it. His feet scrabbled against the door, trying to find a hold as his arms trembled from his weight.

Makoto flung his arm out, the tips of his fingers straining against his joints as he reached towards Haru. _“Haru, take my hand!”_ he shouted.

Haru swung his hand towards him, their fingertips brushing when Haru suddenly howled, “Makoto, _watch out!”_

Makoto’s eyes snapped back to the road, wrenching the steering wheel as hard as he could with his left hand to avoid the oncoming minivan. As the fire truck veered around the corner, he dove forward those last five centimetres and seized Haru’s hand.

“You _idiot,”_ Haru yelled as he was nearly tugged off the door and thrown down into the street. _“Let go of me!_ You’re going to get us both killed!”

“NO!” Makoto screamed back. “ _YOU’RE_ THE IDIOT! YOU HIJACKED MY VEHICLE, TERRORISED MY FRIENDS, AND FORCED ME TO DRIVE DURING A FREAKING CAR CHASE! I should _hate_ you but I _don’t_ because – because, well – I _c-care_ about you, so fu-fu- _FUCK THE POLICE,_ I’M NOT LETTING GO OF YOU UNTIL YOU GET BACK OVER HERE AND _FIX THIS!”_

Haru’s eyes widened, and he stared at Makoto. Several heart-stopping moments passed before Haru finally warned him, "If you don't catch me, I'll kill you."

To be honest, Makoto would probably end up killing _himself_  if he had to face Rin's wrath without Haru, but he ignored the spiralling panic and squeezed Haru's hand, letting him know he was ready. Haru squeezed back and clenched his jaw with grim determination.

Grunting, he threw himself into the truck as Makoto pulled him in, the door slamming shut as he flopped down onto Makoto's lap.

“That was _close,”_ Makoto rasped, using his right arm to support Haru as he leaned back against him and let out several ragged breaths.

“Don’t relax just yet,” Haru panted. “We need to drop the truck off with Rei.”

Right. Well, as long as they weren’t being chased by cops and no one was getting shot, Makoto thought he could handle that. “Where do we need to go?”

“The abandoned swim club.”

Scratch that. He most definitely could _not_ handle going anywhere _near_ the abandoned swim club. “Wh-wh- _what? Haruuuuuuuuuuuu,_ we can’t go there! That place is ha-ha-haunted! What if I see a gh-gh-ghost or a-a _youkai—”_

“Makoto,” Haru quietly interrupted him, placing a quick kiss on his cheek. “I appreciate you being here for me.”

Makoto forgot all about spooks and shadows after that.

 

* * *

 

One hour later, they had the fire truck safely parked behind the abandoned Iwatobi Swim Club, its GPS tracker disarmed by some spidery device Haru had jammed onto it earlier, and HOLY SHIT HE WAS ALIVE PRAISE THE LORD he would have _totally_ gone to Hell if he’d died. _THANK YOU FOR LETTING ME LIVE,_ he silently cried to the heavens. _I WILL MAKE IT UP TO YOU, KAMI-SAMA, I PROMISE –_

“You’re still hard,” Haru remarked, amusement laced throughout his tone.

“I – that was entirely _your_ fault,” Makoto blurted out, a furious blush creeping up the side of his neck and flaring across his face. “You wouldn’t stop… _rubbing up on me!”_ he accused with high-pitched indignation.

“Maybe you just need more practice. Driving, that is,” Haru teased him smugly, turning around to face him while grinding his ass down on Makoto’s throbbing erection.

 _Nonononono we should NOT be doing this,_ the rapidly shrinking, rational side of his brain protested as Haru leaned in and tugged his bottom lip between his teeth. _You barely got out of that mess alive! Having gay sex with your kidnapper is definitely pushing your luck –_

Makoto didn’t hear another word after Haru slipped his tongue into his mouth and raked his nails down the back of his scalp, dragging out moan after shivery moan as Makoto struggled not to cum in his pants.

He could feel Haru, hot and hard against him, and abruptly gave in to the urge to reach his hand down and palm Haru’s front. Haru let out a soft little growl as Makoto’s fingers explored his shape, mapping out the ridges and pulling up towards the head.

“Strip,” Haru commanded, his eyes darkening into a deep, roiling blue that threatened to consume him.

 _Oh, god, I can't breathe. Am I drowning?_ he thought to himself a little helplessly as he obediently unfastened his equipment and tossed it onto the seat beside them. Meanwhile, Haru bent over and rummaged in one of the side pockets on the black duffel bag, pulling out a bottle of lube and a condom, much to Makoto’s chagrin.

“Please tell me that doesn’t smell like fish,” Makoto whined, feeling his erection beginning to wilt at the thought of being saturated in lube that reeked of mackerel, or _worse,_ being _penetrated_ with essence of mackerel. Up his _ass..._

Haru didn’t offer him any words of comfort, instead ripping the package of the condom open with his teeth and rolling it down Makoto’s length, eyes shining appreciatively. He lifted himself up slightly and ripped his clothes off with breakneck speed, the stolen chef uniform flashing out of sight faster than Makoto could shut his gaping jaw.

If he thought Haru was beautiful before, it was nothing compared to seeing him naked. His cock stood flushed and proud against the V of his hips, already gleaming with excitement – a stark contrast to his slender, deceptively doll-like limbs. He was created to haunt dreams, for grace and swiftness, to lure the unsuspecting to their doom. Makoto could hardly believe he was about to make love to this beautiful creature as Haru crawled back over him and licked his lips.

“You know,” Haru whispered into his ear, sinking onto Makoto’s length with his legs spread wide so Makoto could watch himself slide into him, “I only needed your suit. But I think I'm going to keep you. I like driving with you.”

“I-I like driving with you t-too, Ha- _Haru-ka,”_ Makoto confessed, gasping as Haru clenched around him. Haru bit his earlobe, licking his way back into his mouth and sucking the words right out of him. "I - _mmm_ - f-feel like we can - _hah_ \- go anywhere - oh, _God,"_  he moaned, throwing his head back at the slick, heady sensation of Haru bouncing on his cock. _  
_

Haru tightened his grip on Makoto's shoulders, each thrust wrenching out a greedy grunt from the back of his throat. “I-idiot," Haru tried to scowl at him, his pale cheeks blotched with red, "Y-you know m-my name. I c-can't just let you _go_ \- uh, _yes, FUCK,_ right  _there!"_

“It’s okay,” Makoto trembled and gasped back, roughly digging his fingers into Haru’s hips and jerking him down at an angle that ensured his captor would be coming at least twice before he was finished.

_I don’t ever want you to._

 

* * *

 

[ROLL CREDITS]

 

**Author's Note:**

> ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: "STORY MODE COMPLETE" +50 GAMER POINTS
> 
> Hello? Is anyone still there? I would like to thank Rockstar Games, Jaime (my champion), Ben for visiting me in Hell to bring tea, Fede-waifu for drawing this [INCREDIBLE PROMO ART](http://unkonageki.tumblr.com/post/112229670997/a-silly-gift-for-my-amazing-wifu-rinrinsamurai), the Great Merin-sama for putting together this [amazing festival](http://theofficialmakoharufestival.tumblr.com/post/111503433475/username-rinrinsamurai-ao3-ff), MakoHaru for ruining my life, and YOU, if you have stuck with me until the bitter end :')


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